


Niagara Falls

by PeregrineBones



Series: Ineffability [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angels, Demons, Fallen Angels, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-01 07:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeregrineBones/pseuds/PeregrineBones
Summary: Two old friends meet at a seedy hotel. Things of an emotional and sexual nature occur. They have a good time -sort of.





	Niagara Falls

The two old friends had agreed to meet at the Niagara Falls Hilton, a hotel which, admittedly had seen better times. Crowley arrived first, left his rented Mercedes with the valet, and entered the dark bar. He ordered a Bloody Mary and looked about the dimly lit room. The decor involved a good deal of red velvet, oak, and crystal chandeliers. A pianist, seated at a gleaming black grand piano, played favorites from the seventies, eighties and nineties. Crowley’s drink was prepared by a handsome bartender - a bit too handsome for the surroundings, Crowley thought. He sipped his drink and checked his cell phone. He wanted a cigarette, but that was out of the question here. He tapped the pack in his shirt pocket, impatiently. He took another drink, and scrolled through his phone. The blue light glinted off his dark glasses, which he did not remove, although the room was dim.

Aziraphale arrived, looking dead handsome, as always, although Crowley had not seen him in over a decade. The angel knew how to dress, Crowley had to give him that. Tonight he wore a deep blue button down, that brought out the color in his eyes and white jeans that accentuated the generous curve of his arse. Crowley would never dress that gay, but Aziraphale could pull it off. He rose from his barstool, and the two men airkissed, european style, on both cheeks. Aziraphale was freshly shaved, his cherubic cheeks baby smooth, and Crowley’s pulse quickened as he caught a whiff of the angel’s scent.

“You’re looking well,” said Crowley.

“Ah, yes, well, I’ve been slimming,” Aziraphale responded.

Crowley smirked. Aziraphale was always one to try out human fads, whatever they might be. He remembered a time of heavy investment in the Amsterdam tulip trade in the 1600s, as well as a period of long hair and love beads in the 1960s.

They were shown to a table with a view of the falls. Crowley ordered a second Bloody Mary and the 24 ounce steak with fries, from their waiter, another exceptionally good looking young man. Crowley imagined the employment opportunities in this particular backwater of upstate New York were quite limited. Aziraphale ordered the vegetarian pasta primavera.

“Since when are you a vegetarian?” asked Crowley when their order arrived. He dug into his streak with gusto. Aziraphale picked at his food with distaste. He sipped a glass of mineral water prissily.

“Oh, it's been about five years now,” said Aziraphale. He took a small bite, then shuddered and put down his fork.

“Why?” asked Crowley, with genuine curiosity.

“Oh, you know, better for me, better for the planet. Doing my small part for the environment. Did you know that if everyone on earth stopped eating meat tomorrow, global warming could be pushed back by ten years at least?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and continued chewing. He cut off a piece of juicy red meat and waved it in front of Aziraphale’s face. “Can I tempt you, Angel? It's delicious.”

“No, thank you,” said Aziraphale primly.

“You know you want it,” said Crowley, in his best tempter’s voice, sibilant and soft. The very voice that had convinced Eve to taste the first apple. Completely irresistible. But Aziraphale knew the demon’s tricks.

“Have you seen Warlock?” he asked Crowley, to distract him.

“Oh yes,” replied Crowley. He popped the piece of meat in his mouth and chewed contentedly. “He’s doing great! Really does me proud. A rising attorney in the Trump department of justice. They love him at the White House. He’ll go far that boy. You should go visit him. He’d love to see you.”

“I.....do miss him,” said Aziraphale, remembering the years he had spent as a gardener for Warlock’s family during the boy’s childhood. “But.....it's not really a good time. You know. The home office wouldn’t like it.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Crowley. He signalled the waiter to bring him another Bloody Mary. “Have you seen Adam?” he asked.

“Oh, my word, yes,” said Aziraphale, and his face lit up with happiness for the first time. “He’s doing really well, don’t you know? Working at the central office for Greenpeace - he’s one of their main strategists now. Lovely wife, and two gorgeous children, with a third on the way. They couldn’t be happier”

“And the others?”

“Well, Pepper married Wensleydale, of course, and she’s also expecting. They’re thrilled. And Brian, well, he’s taken a while to settle down but he’s got a new bloke now. I think they’re really good for each other. I just spent last Christmas with all of them. A lovely time. And of course that’s one thing I get good marks for, up above.”

“Yes, well.” Crowley pushed his dark glasses up on his nose. In the distance thunder rumbled. “Finished eating?” he asked.

Aziraphale picked at the distasteful mush on his plate.

“Yes,” he replied. “Most definitely.”

********

They checked into the honeymoon suite, complete with a heart shaped bed, a sunken jacuzzi and a view of the Rainbow Falls, all lit up with multicolored lights. They sat before the gas fireplace, sharing the complimentary bottle of champagne between them.

“This is undrinkable,” pronounced Aziraphale, sipping at it with a shudder and placing his glass on the table between them.

“More for me then,” sighed Crowley contentedly, and poured himself another glass. “Just as well,” he added. “I prefer you sober. You know you have performance problems when you drink too much.”

Aziraphale sighed and stared into the flames but did not argue. Crowley never had performance problems. One of the many annoying things about him.

“I hate America,” he said.

“I love it,” declared Crowley. “Can’t get enough of this country. Our man in the white house, MAGA rallies. It's been a busy time I tell you.”

“Aren’t you needed at the Brexit talks?”

“Oh yes, that too. You wouldn’t believe how many frequent flyer miles I’ve racked up. Really, I’m riding high. The home office hasn’t been so pleased with me in years. How’s the bookshop?”

“Oh….” Aziraphale sighed again. “You know….. A bit slow. The internet, and all that. There isn’t quite the same interest in books that there used to be.”

Crowley smiled at the flames. “Yes, yes, the internet. That’s also really going well. Another feather in my cap. Do you know literacy across the globe has declined by 25% in the past ten years? And porn is the number one search term on Google. Really, they’re very pleased with my work down below.”

“I’m sure they are,” said Aziraphale, dryly.  
.  
“It’s high times,” Crowley went on. “I don’t think I've had this good a series of performance reviews since the Spanish Inquisition.”

“That’s nice,” said Aziraphale icily.

“Definitely not since the 1930s,” said Crowley. “Of course ...They don’t quite realize…..Most of it just kind of.…..happens. Human beings are so good at thinking up evil all on their own. Not much left for me to do really. And, well, no harm done if I take a little of the credit for it.”

“No,” said Aziraphale, with distaste. “Hardly any harm at all. Just another slight rent in the fabric of the universe. But who’s counting?”

“You’re a bit gloomy, Angel.”

“Ah well, high times for you, lean times for me. It all comes round eventually, after all. It's all about the balance.” He got up and stood at the window, looking out over the falls.

“Yes,” echoed Crowley. “The balance.” He set down his empty glass, belched, and removed his glasses, revealing yellow eyes, with vertical slits for pupils. Then in one swift move he was out of his chair and leaning into Aziraphale with his long, perfect frame. He stood there for a moment, his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, breathing in, taking his measure. Aziraphale could smell the sulphur on his breath, and the light in the room glowed suddenly warmer.

Crowley leaned in, ever so slightly and his lips brushed Aziraphale’s. The angel stood perfectly still, as still as he could, his heart aquiver. And although they had done this many times over many centuries, it somehow felt like a first kiss - just as breathless, just as filled with yearning, as that very first time. Aziraphale took a sharp breath in - he couldn’t help it. He let his lips part, ever so slightly, and Crowley's tongue was snaking delicately between them. Aziraphale let his own tongue dart forward. He licked Crowley’s soft, sensuous, dangerous lips, just a little bit fuller than lips should be.

“Angel,” breathed Alexander Crowley. “I’ve missed you.”

*********

Things proceeded apace. There was some kissing by the window, the two gorgeous men silhouetted prettily against the light, for anyone passing by to appreciate. Then the curtains were drawn, and there was more kissing, a bit of breathless shoving, back and forth as the two well muscled bodies found their balance against each other. Articles of clothing were removed, shoulders were rubbed, they spent some time in the jacuzzi, kissing in the bubbling steamy water. They were in no rush. They both wanted to make it last.

After the jacuzzi they got in between the pink sheets of the heart shaped bed. Aziraphale tsked at the feel of them. Not even real cotton! But Crowley had wanted seedy - so. Here they were.

The demon was pleased, Aziraphale could tell. His eyes glowed yellow in the low light, he smiled a wolfish grin. Crowley understood sex at primal level. He had helped to invent it. Now he laid Aziraphale out, on the slippery pink sheet, pulled back the covers, and looked at him with pure delight. Aziraphale, for all his fussing over his health, his worry over his weight, was a gorgeous creature. He had flawless opalescent skin, blond hair, darkened at the roots now, with sweat, a long aristocratic nose, powerful shoulders, that slight curve to his belly, which caused him so much consternation, but which Crowley found endearing, well muscled legs, covered by blonde curling hairs. When Aziraphale was excited he glowed a little, just a faint aura, coming off his skin, and the light in the room took on a pinkish tinge.

Crowley bent to kiss him, then started devouring him as if he were a three course dinner, tasting and nibbling at every nook and cranny of flesh, starting at the mouth and working his way gradually down. Aziraphale, recognizing that he was in the hands of a master sensualist, allowed himself to be worshipped by Crowley’s mouth, to be tongued and nibbled in every crease and crevice. He gave himself over to it, to this master of the flesh, the tension building, his breath deepening, his cock standing at attention, yearning, waiting for the inevitable touch of those skillful full lips.

“It’s been...so long,” he whispered when Crowley reached his navel and lavished some serious attention there.

Crowley looked up at him and grinned. “So long, Angel? What about all your other lovers?”

Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked at the devilishly handsome man between his legs. ”I don’t have any other lovers,” he said.

Crowley looked at him indignantly. “That’s not true!” he cried.

“To all intents and purposes,” replied Aziraphale.

“What about that young wizard?” retorted Crowley. “The one who was so distraught when his boyfriend went to jail!?”

“What? Oh…. Remus Lupin? Oh well, yes, there was him!”

“You lied!” shouted Crowley joyfully. “I caught you in a lie, Angel!” He was grinning from ear to ear, his yellow eyes glowed, the vertical slits of the pupils seemed more reptilian than ever.

“I didn’t lie, Demon,” said Aziraphale stiffly. He shifted in bed and raised himself on his elbows. His erection which had been so huge and urgent moments before, had withered and died. His white blond hair was plastered to his head and his blue eyes darkened, from sky blue to a deep violet. “It slipped my mind!”

“Slipped your mind?” said Crowley. “Slipped your mind, Angel?” And he laughed, a deep satisfied laugh that shook the thin walls of their hotel room.

“There’s a difference,” sniffed Aziraphale.

“That was less than a decade ago!” shouted Crowley with delight. Again the low rumbling laugh. Outside the fly specked window, the sky darkened, a sudden wind ruffled the trees. Thunder rumbled. “I love catching you in a lie, Aziraphale!”

“It wasn’t a lie! It was a memory lapse!” said Aziraphale. His fair complexion, always quick to color, had turned bright red.

“A memory lapse?” said Crowley. “You don’t have memory lapses! You’re a supernatural being!”

Aziraphale turned to the wall, curled up in a ball and sniffed loudly. He pulled the thin quilt up around his shoulders. “I hate this room!” he said in a pouting kind of voice.

Crowley looked around the lover's suite with satisfaction. “It's perfectly seedy,” he said. “You promised this time we’d do seedy.”

“I’d rather be at the Ritz in New York. Or the Palais Royal in Paris. Remember that room we had? With the fantastic view of the Seine?”

“I like seedy,” said Crowley softly. “It’s sexy.” He took his long, elegant forefinger and ran it slowly over the lobe of Aziraphale’s ear. He heard the angel’s breathing deepen. He put his mouth close to that beautiful, perfectly formed ear and breathed. “Don't you think its sexy?”

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale. He felt his erection starting to stir again. The devil’s breath was hot against his ear, like the fires of hell itself. But he liked it. He really, really liked it.

“You were sexy anyway, with that bloke,” said Crowley. “It was hot as hell, actually.”

Aziraphale sat up suddenly in bed and stared at Crowley indignantly. “What? You were watching?”

Crowley just grinned at him. Aziraphale could see the amused satisfaction lurking in his eyes. But he did not laugh and the skies outside stayed calm.

“That’s rude!” the angel said indignantly.

“I suppose,” said Crowley.

“It's an invasion of my privacy!”

“Yeah,” said Crowley in a bored voice, and picked at a hangnail, which he had conjured for the purpose of appearing bored, as his body was flawless in every way.

“How…..where were you? In the room?” asked Aziraphale, curiosity getting the better of his indignation.

“Remember that photo on the wall?”

“The odd one?”

“Mmm hmm,” said Crowley, moving in to kiss the angel’s perfect white neck. He drew in his breath a moment, sharply, at the iridescent beauty of it.

“The…. It was a beast of some kind. A giraffe wasn’t it?” said Aziraphale, trying to remember. Crowley was distracting him with those perfectly placed kisses, those whispers of hot breath against his cool skin. “With …. With wings and a big…..”

“Cock,” Crowley supplied.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, and he reddened again, at the word. Aziraphale was very proper when it came to matters of language. He leaned back and lifted his chin to give Crowley better access to the soft, sensitive places on his neck. “He was quite…… well hung.”

“That was me,” said Crowley. “I was watching.”

“You….. devil,” gasped Aziraphale and he pulled Crowley down so the full weight of his body was on him. He ground their hips together. He was breathing fast and the room smelled of lemon balm and lavender because that's how Aziraphale’s breath smelled when he became overwhelmed with love. The light in the room took on a warm, pink tinge. Crowley’s eyes glowed a deeper yellow while Aziraphale’s lightened to the pure blue of the sky on a perfect summer day.

Aziraphale was returning Crowley’s kisses, tasting the salty taste of his skin, breathing in the sulfur tinge of his breath, feeling the muscles, so warm, so alive, under his smooth, perfect olive skin. Crowley pressed into him, and Aziraphale gasped as he felt the demon's cock, pressing in, that beautiful, perfect thing.

“Let’s…..get down to business, shall we?” Aziraphale murmurred.

Crowley grinned and grabbed the angel under his generous white buttocks and pressed himself against the crack. He pushed in, slow, controlled and exquisite. He grunted and closed his yellow eyes. Sex with Aziraphale was not like sex with anyone else, Crowley thought as he started to move inside the angel, and find his rhythm. Fucking Aziraphale was like being surrounded by a luminescent bubble of love. It was like being thrust into the middle of a sappy love song and believing, for a few moments, that it was real. The scent of lemon balm and lavender intensified. He took Aziraphale’s penis in his fist and the angel moaned with pleasure, and started fucking him back. The room glowed even pinker. 

For Aziraphale all of time and space contracted to just that one thing - that hard, hungry cock at the center of his being. No one, in all of eternity had ever made him feel like Crowley did. And he loved him for it.

Outside, the birds started singing even though it was the middle of the night.

********

“Who else?” asked Crowley lazily, after. “Who else besides that Lemus Rupin fellow?”

Aziraphale smiled as he thought of Remus, the depth of his despair and loneliness. Aziraphale had helped lift him out of it, rolled back the darkness a little. He had done some good there, he mused.

“Don’t_ you_ know?” he asked, settling his cheek against Crowley’s chest, the dark hair, olive skin, the perfect pectoral muscles rippling beneath it all. Crowley was quite vain, and spent a lot of time at the gym.

“How should_ I_ know?”

“_I_ don’t know. I thought you were keeping tabs on me.”

“Ahh.....that was just a lucky break,” said Crowley. “I came looking for you….. And…there you were, shacked up with …..that wizard.”

“Oh.....“ said Aziraphale, understanding dawning. ”That’s why you’ve been keeping away so long. You were jealous.”

“No ... “ said Crowley, but he shifted uncomfortably in the bed. “That’s not it.”

“Jealous of poor little Remus Lupin? Really?”

“He wasn’t so little as I recall,” said Crowley. He reached over to the bedside table. “Seen my smokes?” he asked.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Aziraphale tutted. No one could tut like Aziraphale. He had basically invented tutting.

Crowley flicked his wrist and his shirt came flying across the room and into his hand. He dug out a packet of cigarettes and lit one with a flame which he conjured from his index finger. He lay back on the bed and sighed. “I like this room,” he said with satisfaction.

Aziraphale shuddered.

“You were hot,” murmurred Crowley contentedly. He took a drag on his cigarette, exhaled, and then pulled Aziraphale over and kissed him on the mouth.

“You taste like an ashtray,” said Aziraphale, though he had to admit, he liked the way Crowley looked, lying there naked. He liked the way his lips drew in around the cigarette, the careless way he held it in his hand.

“It hasn’t really been that long,” said Crowley, picking up the thread of their earlier conversation. “Has it?”

“More than a decade,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t think we’ve gone that long since - I don’t know sometime in the fifteen hundreds.”

“Ah, well,” said Crowley. “You know, the Renaissance and all that. Busy time for me, that was. You too, I believe.”

“Yes,” admitted Aziraphale, and for the third time that evening, he blushed. He remembered a series of beautiful young poets, who had all needed the kind of love and encouragement that he’d had to offer. “I was a bit.....busy,“ he admitted.

Crowley snorted. “That William Shakespeare was a tasty morsel, as I recall.”

“Yes,” agreed Aziraphale, remembering that beautiful boy fondly. “And so very bright. So filled with promise.”

“You’ve slowed down since then,” Crowley observed.

“Ah well, it was a special time. And I was.....younger. I like to think my interests have grown somewhat more refined, since then.”

“Must be a bit frustrating,” remarked Crowley.

“I’m all right, Crowley. Unlike you, I don’t feel a need to just stick it in every attractive piece of…..tushie that crosses my path.”

“But you still look. I know you look. I’ve seen you look.” said Crowley.

“No harm in that,” replied Aziraphale. “No harm in…. looking.”

“You were looking tonight,” said Crowley. “I saw you, watching that bloke at the bar.”

“I appreciate the beauty of the male body, I admit it,” replied Aziraphale loftily.

“So why not get laid more?” asked Crowley. The sibilant voice of the tempter, always, but he was also genuinely curious. The workings of the angel’s mind, his moral universe, was an area that never failed to intrigue and fascinate Crowley. It was so very different from his own.

“Sex is …..sacred, Crowley, don’t you know that? You who deal in sex all the time, who use its power to hurt and damage. Sex without love wreaks havoc, that’s why we take such a strong stand against it, in my department. It’s an elemental power, like fire, and like fire and it can burn and destroy. But sex with love is a sacred tool. It is a force for healing, a force for good. It is the ultimate creative act. I never do it lightly.”

“So why do you do it with me, Angel?”

“You, Demon, are more desperately in need of healing than any creature on this worn and tired earth.”

*********

The silence between them went on a long time, filled with words unsaid, filled with the ineffability of time itself At last Crowley said “You think I need healing, Angel?”

“I know you do.”

Crowley got out of bed and wandered over to the window. He was so beautiful, standing there naked in the low light of the honeymoon suite, that Aziraphale caught his breath. Crowley drew the curtain back a bit and looked out. Then he walked back over to the bed and sat on the edge.

“Why would you say that?” he asked.

Aziraphale stroked his arm. “I’ve known it for a very long time,” he said. “Almost since, you know, the beginning. Pain attracts me, Crowley. I feel your pain and I want to heal you. It’s that simple.”

“My pain is nothing compared to your pain.”

“I don’t follow you there.”

“You feel the pain of the world all the time, Aziraphale. Every bent blade of grass, every tree that falls. Every heart that breaks.”

“It’s true,” whispered Aziraphale. “I do.”

“So how do you live with all that.....empathy? It would drive me mad.”

“It does, in a way,” said Aziraphale. “But,” he shrugged and gave a wry little smile. “I am an angel, after all.”

Crowley shuddered. “Not for me thanks. All that …..Goodness. It would drive me out of my mind.”

Aziraphale sighed. “It does get tedious, at times.”

“How do you cope?”

“Ah,” he said. He pulled Crowley in for a kiss, sucked in his hot sulphurous breath. “That’s what I need you for.”

“What?”

“A little distraction.” He closed his angelic blue eyes and shuddered with pleasure as the devil ran a hand down his thigh. “A little taste of evil.”

The light in the room was starting to glow pink again, when there was a sharp ping. Crowley gave a frustrated sigh, leaned over and picked up his phone where he had left it on the nightstand. He read the text, then sighed. He kissed Aziraphale on the cheek and stood.

“Sorry, Angel,” he said. “Wish I could stay for another go. But I’m needed in the West Wing.”

“Darn,” said Aziraphale softly. “Darn those blasted contraptions.”

Crowley grinned. “Another feather in my cap,” he said. He gestured with his hand, running it down the length of his body with an elegant movement, and he was fully dressed in an instant. He put his cigarettes in the breast pocket of his shirt. He picked up his sunglasses, his phone and his keys and strode to the door. There he paused and looked back at Aziraphale. His eyes burned deep yellow and the angel could not quite read his expression. Was it sadness? Regret? He didn’t know if Crowley could even feel those things.

"Aziraphale.....I...." Crowley started, but he didn't finish the sentence. Instead he put on his sunglasses, checked his phone once more, and put it in his pocket.

“Until next time, Angel," Crowley said softly and he was out the door, leaving Aziraphale naked, staring after him from between the cheap pink sheets.

After he left Aziraphale got out of bed. He put on a midnight blue satin dressing gown, something he had picked out deliberately for this date, knowing that Crowley would like it. He knew the man’s tastes, that was for sure. He went over and stood at the window, assuming the position Crowley had taken just a short time before. He looked down at the hotel’s circular drive, saw a silver Mercedes emerge from the underground parking garage. He saw Crowley get in, heard the car start. The faint strains of one of those blasted Queen songs he was always listening to filled the night as he drove away.

The angel sighed heavily. It wasn’t that he was miffed at being left alone in this seedy hotel room, though that was part of it. He had been looking forward to the two of them taking a boat ride under the falls in the morning - that was part of it. He supposed he could do it alone but it wouldn’t be the same. But his distress went deeper. Something had shifted, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. He hadn’t been able to read the look on Crowley’s face as he left, and it weighed on Aziraphale. He was worried about his friend.


End file.
